


as i stand, camerado

by Experi



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Agender Character, Canon Compliant, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:08:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25210639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Experi/pseuds/Experi
Summary: Early in the Grand Order's timeline.After Berserker's interlude, Ritsuka tries to see his face properly.
Relationships: Fujimaru Ritsuka/Lancelot of the Lake | Berserker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	as i stand, camerado

**Author's Note:**

> uuuhhhh feed me ritsuka/zerkerlot.  
> This is an old thing I've had sitting in my drafts for so long that I'm like 'eh, I'm not gonna add anything else' so here it is. There is no point at which my Zerkerlots are particularly consistent in appearance or mechanics so we just have to accept my foibles.
> 
> (The ritsuka i write is basically my oc Ritsu that I rp, they/them using gudao if you want to know the picture in my head.)

Ritsuka knocks carefully on the door, a gentle two-note rap that would be difficult to miss but fairly easy to ignore if Berserker wishes to. Ritsuka isn’t sure what they should expect, exactly. They figure they’re friends enough with Berserker to ask minor favours, but who knows -- and even if they are, it’s pretty reasonable for Berserker to want to keep his own time to himself. So Ritsuka stands in front of the door, waiting and uncertain. It’s almost a surprise when they hear a grumbled, distorted acknowledgement from inside and Lancelot opens the door a second later. He stares down at Ritsuka through the visor of his helmet. 

“Hi,” Ritsuka says softly. “It’s nothing important, I just wanted to know if I could visit.”

“Mnh,” Lancelot garbles back in agreement. He steps aside, allowing Ritsuka space to enter the dorm and closing the door behind them. It’s rather dark inside, the ceiling lights dimmed to a low glow with only a table lamp turned on fully. It’s probably easier on the eyes, or maybe Lancelot was asleep? Ritsuka hopes not. It also makes the glow from Lancelot’s visor even brighter, a marked illumination in the area around his face. Berserker watches them in silent expectation.

“I wanted to ask you,” Ritsuka starts. “Can I see your face again? I know you already took your helmet off for us earlier, so it’s fine if you don’t want to bother with it again. I just wanted to see.” They hold their hands placidly in front of them, fingers interlocked. Speaking to Lancelot doesn’t make them nervous any more; the luminescent stare and jumbled speech are all things they’ve gotten used to and, they feel, become pretty good at decoding. It’s just a matter of seeing Lancelot’s response.

Lancelot only pauses for a moment before he kneels in front of Ritsuka and takes his helmet into his hands. He removes it carefully to balance against his knee, still and waiting. His hair falls free against his shoulders as Lancelot looks up at Ritsuka once more. Berserker’s eyes glow as luridly as his helmet’s visor did, making his eyes immediately notable when the rest of his face is obscured. Odd black smoke stays around his face, curling over his features t obscure them almost entirely and rising up before disappearing into the air an inch or so above his head. Still, his eyes stand out, vibrant and somewhat sunken, tired and melancholy. Lancelot’s face, or what small parts of it are visible, seems oddly unreal in places, as if he was recorded on a glitching VHS. Ritsuka holds his gaze without moving, as if they’re taken aback and drawn in all at once, before they realize they’ve been holding their breath. Ritsuka exhales slowly, relaxing a little. They step forwards, their hand slowly raising before they catch themselves abruptly in front of him. “Ah. Can I…?” Their voice trails off. Lancelot nods anyways.

Carefully, as if they’re afraid of spooking Berserker, Ritsuka slides their fingertips over his cheek, soft and barely-there. The smoke against their hands is cold and staticky, like touching a Tesla coil and feeling the hair on their forearms prickle. Carefully, like they’re tracing him, Ritsuka draws their fingertips over the arch of Lancelot’s cheekbone over to the base of his ear. The fog dissipates a little around their fingertips and the odd glitchy bits stabilize, though it’s still not a clear view. Berserker exhales softly. His eyes flutter closed and he leans just barely into Ritsuka’s touch. It eases their nerves a little bit, enough to bring their other hand up to Lancelot’s opposite cheek and cup it carefully as well, join the first hand in mapping Berserker’s face. Ritsuka’s hands move softly and carefully, without a single sound from Ritsuka themselves, or from Berserker. 

Lancelot’s sharp, like he’s been cut out of stone, weathered only to emphasize the angles and weariness that manifests in his physicality. The vaguely prickly sensation, like the smoke, remains in a faint way when Ritsuka’s hands stop on Lancelot’s temples, but his face is-- if not clear, then mostly perceptible. Ritsuka stares, wide-eyed and awestruck. It’s the first time they’ve been given such a marked and visual sign of trust from any of their summoned Servants, and it generates an odd weight in their chest. “Ah,” they say, completely unbidden, with a waver in the noise. It’s too much, suddenly, as the moment coalesces into a sharp pain in their chest, something bittersweet. Lancelot opens his eyes again, the beginning of a question on his lips, but he’s cut off immediately by Ritsuka nearly falling into him, pulling him into a tight hug around the shoulders. Ritsuka buries their face against the armour at the base of Lancelot’s neck. It’s cold and unyielding, which at least serves to stabilize Ritsuka’s emotions, the inexplicable sense of being overwhelmed.

Funny, that the weight of human history never hit them so hard, seemed so  _ abstract _ , but the weight of carrying someone else’s trust is personal enough to keel them over.

Uncertain and confused, Lancelot raises his hand to place warily on Ritsuka’s back, not knowing what he’s meant to do or why. It’s strange, this person holding onto him, like they’re trying to save -- something? Lancelot opens his mouth. “Aah--Arthur?” Surprisingly coherent, little vocal distortion even when his thoughts themselves are cloudy and incoherent.

Ritsuka laughs weakly. “No,” they reply, “I’m not Arthur.”

“I’m. Sorry.” 

“Me too.”


End file.
